Operation: Failed
by Tristan-the-Dreamer
Summary: Trauma Center:SO When an operation goes wrong, people feel guilty, of course.  That's the case when Victor and a new surgeon fail a GUILT operation.  But, in this situation...where does the blame really lie?  Sorry that I changed the title and summary.
1. Questions Unanswered

**Trauma Center: Second Opinion**

**"**Questions Unanswered" by Tristan-the-Dreamer

A/N: I wrote this because I was sad when I won the game, and I wanted to keep living in the world. I know this is short; hopefully I'll get at least another chapter up sometime. Please r/r, but try to keep the flames on low!

* * *

Derek sat quietly in a chair by Victor's bedside. He'd been sitting there for an hour in the late afternoon light. He looked down at his colleague, lying so still. Damp shocks of black hair fell across Victor's darkly complexioned face, defined by sharp cheekbones. Long, skinny arms lay across the white blanket, when normally they'd be crossed over his chest defiantly, a cocky smirk completing the picture. Derek had always admired Victor's sharp intelligence, but Victor's complete lack of social awareness left a chasm between them. He didn't seem to have any friends, or want any, but still Derek wondered…

"Derek." A voice suddenly shocked Derek out of his deep thoughts.

"I'm here, Victor," he said quietly.

"I'm not blind, Stiles," Victor snorted. "I was trying to get your attention. You were off in some kind of make-believe land. So anyway, are there any aspirin lying around this room? I have a wicked headache."

Derek scouted around the room and scared up a bottle, along with a cup of water. "Here."

"Thanks." Victor popped two in his mouth and swallowed them. He set the cup of water by his bed, then sighed unhappily, staring at nothing and no one. "I'm such an IDIOT!" He finally exploded. "RRRRGGGHHH!!"

"Victor, listen. Triti is a delicate GUILT to work on, and this was an unstable case. Anyone could have…"

"But I'm not anyone!" He snapped. "I'm too smart to make mistakes like that! I've seen a dozen or so Triti operations. It's simple, ridiculously simple! Just pluck out the stupid thorns!"

"Simple in theory, yes, but—"

"Oh, just shut up."

"Victor!" Derek leaned forward, staring intensely. "Stop beating yourself up! You know that the failure of the operation was partially due to…" he hesitated. "Look, I don't know Camden that much; he's new around here. From what I can see he's a brilliant surgeon. But he shouldn't have used the Healing Touch during that operation."

"Why not?" Victor challenged. "You use it!"

"Yes, but he wasn't up to it—you said yourself earlier that he looked tired. No matter how you look at it, he should not have attempted it during that surgery. And what were you supposed to do when he collapsed? The GUILT was multiplying like crazy in the patient's pancreas, you couldn't just stand there! _I've _snapped more thorns than I can count."

"But you've always drained the poison in time," Victor countered. "I didn't. Now…Jonathan Roster is dead. Because of me. And you'll never convince me otherwise."

Derek sighed deeply and sagged, defeated. "As you wish." He felt Victor's forehead. "I think you have a bit of a fever. I'll get a cloth for your forehead."

"Whatever." Victor crossed his skinny arms over his chest in defiance of the world. It was his fault, right? After all, he had to do everything perfectly. He held an important position at Caudecaus and was therefore expected to perform at the highest level. But…maybe Derek was right. After all, could he really have done anything differently?

Derek returned and started wiping Victor's sweaty forehead.

"Derek?" Victor said quietly.

"Mm-hmm?"

"Nothing."

FIN

2


	2. Flashback

**Trauma** **Center: Second Opinion**

"Flashback" by Tristan-the-Dreamer

So here's part two, finally! Part three will take a long time to finish, I'm afraid. Anyway, thanks to Crazy Girl Person because she inadvertantly gave me the idea of how Victor got sick! Thanks CGP. ((Big anime smile.)) Oh, and as for reviews, words cannot express how open I am to contructive critisism. I had trouble with this story, so any thoughts you have, lay 'em on!

* * *

_"Victor." Dr. Sidney Kasal came striding down the hall. "A patient has just been brought in with Triti GUILT. We're not sure how he contracted it, but we're going to operate now."_

_"Okay, Chief." Victor looked puzzled. "What do you want me to do?"_

_"I want you to assist Dr. Camden. I know you've recently developed an injection that causes necrosis specifically in Triti cells."_

_"Right. It's 100 percent effective."_

_"Good," Dr. Kasal said briskly. "Can you come now?"_

_"Y-yes, of course." Victor frowned as he walked rapidly down the hall. He wasn't too happy about being paired with Dr. Camden. Ben was the newest surgeon at Caudecaus, and although everyone thought he was a genius, Victor frankly disliked him. _I wish Derek was operating, even though he can be a bit slow…

_The two workers scrubbed and suited up quickly. Victor gave a sideways glance at Dr. Camden as he snapped on his latex gloves. He seemed a little tired. _He better be up to this, _he thought to himself as they entered the operating room. The patient lay unconscious on the table. "Our patient is Jonathan Roster," Dr. Camden said, looking down at the slightly-built man with short tawny hair and a calm expression. "Chiral reaction is positive for Triti. Our objective—inject your serum and get the Triti out!"_

_"Right." Victor nodded curtly, preparing to draw a syringeful of the precious liquid. He had been caught unaware and so had hardly any serum on hand. Victor watched as Dr. Camden disinfected the patient's side with antibiotic gel and made a deft incision with the scalpel, soon exposing the familiar sight of Triti GUILT._

_Victor passed over the syringe filled with plum-tinted liquid. "Inject it directly into the pancreas."_

_Dr. Camden did so, and in seconds the thorns began to wither. "Great! This is great!" He started lifting the limp Triti out with forceps and dropping them on the adjacent metal tray. "This will take half the time. I'm just going to raise his vitals a bit," he murmured from behind his surgical mask, glancing at the vital readout. He grasped the syringe of green fluid and gently inserted it into the patient's side. "There we go." He continued plucking out the GUILT._

_"Wait a minute," Victor said, startled, after a little time had gone by. "His vitals are falling!"_

_"B-but…the chiral reaction is dropping, the Triti are dying! What's going on?"_

_Victor narrowed his eyes in concentration. "Do you remember anything funny on his charts, anything at all?"_

_"Victor…you know everything I do! We had a briefing before the surgery began!"_

_The vitals were down to ten._

_"What are we going to do?" Victor asked helplessly. "I suppose we could—"_

_"I'll have to use the Healing Touch," Dr. Camden said resolutely._

_"Okay." Victor nodded. He'd only seen the Healing Touch in action once or twice, but knew it was a powerful aid. Suddenly he hesitated, eyeing the circles under the doctor's eyes. "Wait—Dr. Camden—do you really think you'll be able to—"_

_He was wasting his breath. The doctor had an incredibly focused look on his face, and his movements were as fast as lightning. He injected the vital-raising serum and continued plucking out the withered Triti, dropping them on the tray. However, the strain was too much for him; he began wavering, and crashed to the ground, still gripping the forceps._

_"I thought so," Victor muttered darkly. He yelled for help as loud as he could before turning to the patient. "Oh crap…!" Apparently Dr. Camden hadn't injected the full dose of his serum, because the Triti were starting to regenerate. And there wasn't enough serum for a second shot. "Now the thorns are going to be poison…and the vitals are still dropping!" _

_He injected more green liquid into the patient before grasping a fresh pair of forceps. He felt like he was acting on instinct, like he had to do this. He plucked out one thorn, then two more. He was then able to lift out a green triangle. He reached for another thorn, but it snapped. Poison gas started wafting out. "Dammit!"_

_He grabbed for the drain and tried to suck up all the gas, but it seemed to be drifting all over the place. Just then Dr. Kasal and Dr. Stiles burst in. "What's going on?" shouted Sidney._

"_Help!" Was all Victor could get out. He was still trying to drain the gas. Meantime the vitals—_

"_He's flatlined!" Derek gasped._

"_And the gas is going everywhere," Sidney snapped. "Victor, move over. Derek…" it was all a blur, but the only thing that mattered was two words:_ too late.

_He had escaped breathing in the gas, but he could have cared less. What hammered into his mind over and over was the thought that he was an idiot for picking up those forceps. It was little consolation to him when his colleages reminded him that Jonathan's vitals were already mysteriously low, or that he had done what he thought was the right thing. His self-fury made him physically sick, and he was temporarily bedridden. Derek took it upon himself to stay by his side, but nothing he could do helped with Victor's guilt._

"Victor?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you okay? You've been staring into space for hours." Angie happened to be passing through the lounge area and came upon Victor sitting quietly on one of the couches.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

FIN


	3. Truth Revealed

**Trauma Center: Second Opinion**

_The Truth Revealed _

Tristan-the-Dreamer

A/N: Okay…sorry to anyone who liked the chapter I took down, but I think it's better if I cut it and incorporate the parts that are good into a longer third part which is below this commentary I am typing! I put this chapter into the format of Victor's POV. It seemed to work the best. And again, kudos to hylianinja for coffee inspiration, and also to whoever invented the way of using "o's" to make bubbly lines. All characters in this whole story belong to Atlus, except Ben Camden who I made. Without further ado, here is the final chapter.

* * *

_--Selections from_

_Victor Niguel's Notebook--_

**8/17 4:00 p.m. **I would never admit this to him, but I really appreciate how kind Derek's been to me since I got sick. I wasn't expecting him to stay by my bedside to keep me company, and it…meant a lot to me when he wiped my face with a cloth. And now I am going to hide this notebook. Forever.

ooooOoooo

**8/22 12:00 p.m. **I'm back to work and starting a new project: developing an antidote to Tetarti toxins. If you inhaled some of the noxious fumes, an injection of this would neutralize the effect. In other words, you wouldn't contract the GUILT. Research starts immediately.

ooooOoooo

**8/24 3:00 p.m. **Dr. Camden performed a Tetarti excision this morning, and I observed for my research—with permission, of course. The doctor seemed pleased that the operation went smoothly, but his satisfaction seemed to come from something deeper…something I couldn't understand. No matter, I have a culture growing and must check on it.

ooooOoooo

**8/25 4:00 a.m. **I just woke up from the worst nightmare of my life. It was autumn, and I was at a cemetery. Everyone was wearing black, except me—I was wearing scrubs. A knot of people were gathered around a grave, and I somehow knew that Jonathan was in it. A priest was there, talking solemnly. Suddenly he stared at me in horror. "Look, the killer is among us!" Everyone turned around, and their eyes bored into me. Will I ever forget that day?

ooooOoooo

**8/25 8:30 p.m. **Dr. Camden and I had coffee together this afternoon; we happened to run into each other at the cafeteria. "You look tired, Victor," he said, after I had yawned three times in a row. He seemed so unthreatening that I found myself telling him my dream. As I finished, he gave me one of the saddest, most time-worn smiles I've ever seen. "There wasn't anything in the world you could have done, Victor. No one could have saved him."

ooooOoooo

**9/5 11:30 a.m. **There's been a breakthrough in my research. The cultures are growing much better than I'd expected, so I'm working around the clock to accelerate the progress. Tyler, of course, has been making obnoxious jokes about me being a 'recluse,' but I pay him no attention. No work, no results, and I WILL get results. Soon I'll be focusing on testing. I'll have to check our stock to make sure we have plenty of tissue.

ooooOoooo

**9/7 11:30 p.m. **Ben has been worrying me lately. On the one hand, like I noticed before, he seems happy—proud, even—that his surgeries have been going so well. He seems to care about the patients (more than me, I'll give him that). It's just that sometimes I'll see him when he doesn't knowI'm seeing him, and his face…he's looking beyond this universe.

ooooOoooo

**9/9 2:00 p.m. **The results of the Roster autopsy have finally been released. Conclusion: the vital serum used on Jonathan was poisoned. Ben looks terribly upset about this, and I don't know how to deal with it either. I never suspected poison. Everyone here has been trying to gauge if I've finished my 'guilt trip'—I can see it in the glances they throw. Sorry to burst your bubble, people, but it isn't that easy. Scars can't be magically erased…and even if people tell you the blood you see on your hands isn't real—what are you going to believe?

ooooOoooo

**9/10 6:00 p.m. **There are rumors buzzing around that Delphi had something to do with Jonathan's death. They're vague, but troubling. Of course, _anything _to do with Delphi is troubling. I wish Ben would calm down about this; he seems more upset than I feel. He's doing strange things, too. I'm no psychologist, but even I know that it's not normal for a person to play songs over and over in their office. I've heard "Mad World" so many times that I think _I'm _going to go mad.

ooooOoooo

**9/11 6:00 a.m. **Seven years…

ooooOoooo

**9/12 7:30 p.m. **I burned my hand this morning on a Bunsen burner, and was in the middle of running it under cold water when Angie rushed in. I suppose she heard me swearing. She helped me take care of it, although I told her not to plan on making a habit out of it.

ooooOoooo

**9/13 6:30 p.m. **More rumors, but I pay them no attention. I've got to get on with my research. I think I'm close to perfecting the Tetarti injection. I asked Ben if he wanted to come see how my work is progressing, and he smiled and said he would see it tomorrow morning. Maybe he's feeling better.

ooooOoooo

**9/14 8:30 a.m. **I'm not sure where to start writing…I'm not even sure if this is real. When I came to work this morning, there were police cars and yellow tape everywhere. Dr. Kasal was talking to a couple officers. He looked like _Hell_. Angie was crying hysterically, and Leslie was hanging onto Tyler like he was her lifeline. Derek just looked like he was going to be sick. When Dr. Kasal saw me get out of my car, he walked over and started talking to me, but his words didn't make sense…I can't write any more right now. I will say just one more thing: I think the bloodstains are fading from my hands.

_ooooOooooOooooOooooOooooO_

**9/14 2:30 a.m. **_I must write this down quickly, before the pills take effect. I'm not sure what to say, but can you blame me? How many people practice writing suicide notes? It all started with the little girl at city hospital. I was ready to save her, GOING to save her, damn it! And then my hand slipped and I slit her aorta open. She bled out so fast…it seemed like there was blood up to my elbows. I wasn't stripped of my license, it was an accident, and those happen. _

_But i fled, I fled in my shame, and eventually………what was I writing about? blacked out for a second..Delphi took me in and taught me how pointless life is…i believed it like a fool, and decided to become a saboteur. so I applyed to causdecs and killed the frist chance I got; which was jonathan..im so sorry Victor—if there was any posible was to undu it i wold but i cant…i tryed to get bak to doing the right thing after jonathan, and I was so hapy, you will never be able to now my hapynes even in yor drems…but Delphi will come…and a kilr dos not deserv to liv…so goodby…victor, ther is on mor thing i wanted to tel y_

_ooooOooooOooooOooooOooooO Fin_


End file.
